


Breathe Through the Heat (of our desire)

by pnt_boi



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, High School AU, Homophobia, Homophobic Dad, M/M, Preacher's Son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:43:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pnt_boi/pseuds/pnt_boi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn’s bad ass and maybe a little bit of an accidental hipster. Liam. Well. Liam is anything but, though that doesn’t stop either of them from anything. But Liam’s dad might stop both of them from everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe Through the Heat (of our desire)

**Author's Note:**

> So, this might suck.  
> Just a little bit.
> 
> Whether it does or doesn't is up to you, and the feedback is greatly appreciated. Leave kudos like there's no tomorrow and bookmark like you dgaf.
> 
> also, this contains more cuss words than you will ever need to say. Just a heads up.

It starts at - of all places - a party, where everyone is speaking in drunken slurs and random howls and maybe even a bit of drug-induced babble, which is okay for some people (people like Zayn Malik and Niall Horan and, even, Ed Sheeran) because drunken slurs happen to be their native tongue. But it’s all pretty foreign to Liam. And that sort of sucks because Liam wants to speak like a drunk or a stoner because, well, Zayn Malik is fluent in drunk and stoned and Liam might want Zayn to fall in love with him. Just a little bit.  
  
But Liam’s a homebody; shy and reserved and more nerdy than he’s likely to admit. He can (and does) quote Batman, recite more numbers of pi than ever will be necessary (3.141592653...), and has a replica of The One Ring sitting on his nightstand. He tutors kids like Zayn Malik - the stubborn druggies who are half scruffy, half clueless, and should probably have a parental warning tattooed to their foreheads - he isn’t supposed to fall in love with them (okay, so maybe it isn’t love, but it’s well on its way there).  
  
Which is why Liam is standing alone in the kitchen, sloshing beer around in his red plastic cup, occasionally taking an experimental sniff, and Zayn is out there wading through the sea of bodies with a few of his friends, howling along to whatever song is blasting through the speakers (do you really expect Liam to know what song it is?).  
  
To be honest, Liam isn’t even sure why the hell he’s here in the first place or how in the world Louis even convinced him to come. It’s Friday night, which is usually reserved for Liam’s guitar practice or, sometimes, a movie marathon with his sisters (all chick-flicks; which, now that he thinks about it, is probably why he’s gay because, honestly, you can only see Channing Tatum so many times before falling for him). But, no, Louis, who - for some reason - is Liam’s best mate, absolutely had to drag Liam to some party or the world would explode (or something of that nature).  
  
But that’s okay because, yeah, when it all breaks down Liam loves Louis and he can always spend Saturday night with his guitar and the beer isn’t actually that bad and maybe he can pass himself off as sick tomorrow morning and his father won’t make him go to church that evening to prepare or practice or whatever (Liam’s dad is the preacher at the local church, which is pretty discouraging to his homosexual-as-they-come son) (but, you know, he manages) (and his dad doesn’t know. That helps a lot).  
  
Liam had, as soon as he walked in, claimed his spot in the kitchen, close to the beer and far away from the couple dry humping against the kitchen counter, and hadn’t intended to move until he was herding Louis and (maybe) Aiden out the door, both presumably drunk and hiccupping (Louis probably crying, as most Friday nights end that way), but that plan quickly changes when he sees Zayn waltzing his way over to where Liam is standing, and the last thing Liam wants is for Zayn Malik to actually talk to him (sure, falling in love sounds great on paper, but if it involves communication, then Liam’s sort of screwed). On the downside, Liam is rooted to the spot and can’t find it in him to move. It’s as if his Converse are literally sewn to the ground, and he really can’t move. Which, you know, is a problem.  
  
What’s an even bigger problem than that, when Zayn reaches him, is that the boy actually begins to talk to him (yep; suspicions confirmed; Liam is screwed). Liam belatedly notes that Zayn’s friends have scattered, giggling and elbowing each other, poking at Zayn, seemingly mocking the raven-haired boy. All Zayn says to Liam is a simple, breathy “Hey, man. Your name’s Liam, yeah?” but it knocks the wind out of the poor boy. Zayn knows his name. What the hell?  
  
“U-uh… oh. Uh… yeah. Yeah, it is,” Liam manages to choke out.  
  
“I’m Zayn, by the way. Zayn Malik,” he says, as if making an introduction is a necessary thing for him to do. “I, uh. I’ve seen you around, by the way. I’m not, like, some creepy-stalker-dude who’s, I dunno, trying to kill you or whatever.”  
  
And - wow. Okay. Zayn Malik - The Zayn Malik - is fumbling over words for Liam. Of all people, Liam! He is literally seconds away from falling to the floor and slipping into a Zayn-induced coma  
  
“Right. Uh - right,” Liam says, nodding nervously and taking another swig - and it’s a very large swig - of beer, clutching onto his cup so hard he can hear the plastic breaking underneath his fingers.  
  
“Are you -” Zayn starts before cutting himself off, shaking his head with a nervous chuckle. “I just. Never mind. I-it isn’t important, actually.”  
  
“What?” Liam insists, quite possibly on the verge of death because - _damn it_ \- Zayn is blushing at him and it isn’t a bad look for him.  
  
“Are you and that Louis kid… like, I dunno… an _item_ or whatever?” Zayn doesn’t even look up from his shoes as he rocks back and forth on his heels.  
  
“Louis?” Liam nearly spits out his drink in shock. “ _Tomlinson?_ God, no! I suppose you think I’m with Aiden, as well?” The only answer Zayn gives is a shrug and a kick of his right shoe against the kitchen tiles. “I’m single, if you _must_ know,” he clarifies, toying with the lip of his cup.  
  
Zayn looks up almost immediately, his hazel eyes a shade darker than Liam remembered them. The next bit is sort of surreal to Liam; for obvious reasons.  
  
Zayn puts his hand on the nape of Liam’s neck, curling his slim fingers around the back of his neck and into a few hairs that stretch that low. The other hand goes to Liam’s hip, his palm flat against Liam’s stomach. The raven-haired boy pushes Liam harder against the counter, smashes their lips together, and _just fucking kisses_ _him_. Right there. On the lips. In front of everyone.  
  
It’s sort of exhilarating - kissing Zayn - and pretty damned cliché. There aren’t any fireworks, but it’s nice. Zayn’s lips are softer than Liam originally expected, and the slightly unpleasant taste of cigarette smoke covers Zayn’s lips and it spreads to Liam’s as their mouths move together. Time passes quickly as they kiss, and they must stay like that for hours (okay, maybe not hours but it’s a long time) and they don’t break apart until Liam feels something tugging on his sleeve and yelling at him. “Liam!” it says. “Liam, _please_ , Li…”  
  
Liam draws back (only enough to separate their lips) from Zayn to look over and find Louis with his hair tousled and his cheeks flushed and flooding with tears. “Please,” he whimpers, and Liam doesn’t even have time to say anything to Zayn ( not even, _sorry I have to go or Louis’s being melodramatic again; gtg_ ) (which doesn’t matter, per se, because all that would’ve come out would probably have been some sort of weak squawk and random babbling) before Zayn has disappeared into the crowd. Liam does his best to not look disappointed and focus on the problem at hand.  
  
He gets Louis home soon after, dropping Aiden off at his house on the way, then making his way to his own house. That night, locked in his room, sprawled across his bed, and staring at the blank ceiling, he has time to ask himself in a breathy whisper, “What the actual _fuck_ just happened?”  
  
+  
  
The next time Liam sees Zayn is that Sunday . Liam’s walking out of church (the one where his father preaches), kicking at the dirt, his hands stuffed firmly in either pocket at nearly one in the afternoon (his dad had some prayer-stuff to do, which apparently means Liam has to stay at church with him). Zayn is pressed against the back of a pickup truck (Liam thinks it might be Zayn’s dad’s or uncle’s or someone of the like), running his hands through his hair and jadedly looking off into the distance.  
  
His head snaps around when he hears Liam’s footsteps. “Hey,” Zayn says with a meek wave. “I, uh. I heard you’re usually here, and I wanted to talk. To you. You know… about, um… about Friday.”  
  
Liam, dazed, nods and manages a “Give me a minute, yeah?” before heading back into the church. He maneuvers around the empty pews to where his father stands by the large statue of Jesus Christ (literally right at his feet) that hangs on the tallest wall in their tiny little church. “Hey, dad? I’m gonna head on home, okay?”  
  
“You sure? I’m nearly finished here. I’ll only take another hour, tops,” his dad says, shuffling a few papers around in his hands.  
  
“Yeah; no. I’m good. A… a friend showed up. We were just gonna talk then bust, you know?” Liam says, sizing up the Jesus statue, focusing on the eye-level feet. He notices that one foot only has four toes.  
  
“Louis or Aiden?” his dad asks, pausing to look up from his work. “That Aiden kid’s kind of sketchy. I heard from a few of the Johnson kids that he’s gay. You know how I feel about people like _that_.”  
  
“I know, dad,” Liam huffs, not sure if he should me immensely angry or extremely saddened. “But it isn’t either of them.” His dad looks greatly surprised at that. As if he didn’t know his son was capable of making friends that he didn’t have when he was seven. “His name’s Zayn. I should. I probably should go out there. He’s been waiting for a bit, I think. So…”  
  
“Oh. Uh, yeah. Of course.”  
  
Liam runs back down the aisles, yelling, “See you at home, dad!” and bursts out the doors to find Zayn fixing his hair in the reflection of his phone screen. “Hey!” Liam says. Zayn turns to him, a hint of a blush on his cheeks. “Wanna walk?”  
  
+  
  
Walking is a little awkward. They’re silent for the first half of their trek with nothing but the sound of their footsteps and the occasional whirring of a passing car filling the otherwise silent air. Then, when they pass the town’s only coffee shop (a quaint little café right smack in the middle of the strip of quaint little shops), Zayn breaks the silence. “Well, Liam. I don’t think we’ve made any progress, believe it or not.”  
  
“I’m not the one who wanted to talk.”  
  
“ _Touché_.”  
  
“So. Talk, yeah?”  
  
“Right, uh. I was just. Um, I was thinking that. Maybe... Ah, fuck.” He stops dead in his tracks, grabs Liam’s sleeve, drags him over, and, right there in front of god and everybody, he kisses Liam square on the mouth. For the second time.  
  
Liam reacts by immediately pushing him off. He throws a glance to their surroundings, searching for people (more specifically, churchgoers) before narrowing his eyes at Zayn. “Come on.” He takes the shocked boy by the hand and pulls him into the alley between the coffee shop and the antique mall.  
  
“Look, Zayn -”  
  
“No, yeah - I get it. You’re, uh. You’re not like that and stuff -”  
  
“No, Zayn, that’s not what I mean -”  
  
“I understand, Liam, _really_ -”   
  
“No, you don’t -”  
  
“I’m sorry for -”  
  
Liam’s sort of fed up and sort of just wants an excuse to kiss him again, so he smashes their lips together to get Zayn to shut up. “No. Stop. You just… I can’t… I can’t… _kiss_ people in public, Zayn. Especially not boys and _especially_ not here.”  
  
Zayn’s eyebrows scrunch together (Liam absentmindedly notes that he’s sort of cute like that), and he looks like he’s trying to put the pieces together in his head. “So, like, you’re in the closet?”  
  
“Yes. For, like, good.”  
  
“For good? You can’t be in the closet for _good_ , Liam.”  
  
“I can and I will be,” Liam says defensively. He takes a step back from Zayn and pushes his back against the alley wall, crossing his arms in front of him.  
  
“Why?” And, when he says it, Zayn looks anything but mocking. He is honestly clueless.  
  
Liam huffs out a breath and lowers himself to the cold concrete ground. He draws his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on between them, and closes his eyes. “Not that it’s any of _your_ business,” Liam spits, “but my dad’s a preacher. A Christian preacher with very strong opinions on homosexuality that aren’t exactly at eye-level with my own views.”  
  
Zayn slips down beside him, keeping a small distance between them, before saying, “That’s no reason to hide who you really are, Liam.”  
  
“But, my dad -”  
  
“Your dad be damned. You’re your own person for a reason; to believe what you want, be who you want, and fuck who you want. If one of those is taken away, you aren’t yourself anymore. You aren’t anyone. You’re… You’re a puppet.”  
  
There’s a long stretch of silence before Liam mutters under his breath, “So what if I’m a puppet?”  
  
Zayn kisses him again, mostly on his mouth, though he gets a lot of cheek, as well. “You’re too good to be a puppet, Li.”  
  
And, with that, Zayn gets up and disappears into the street, leaving Liam speechless and very, very confused.  
  
+  
  
They meet again at school. Liam’s in the bathroom washing his hands when Zayn comes in, his posse flocking around him like he’s a flame and they’re moths (or something of the sort). He shoos them away when he sees Liam, assuring them that he’ll be out in a few.  
  
He pulls Liam into a stall as soon as they’re out the door.  
  
+  
  
They arrange to meet up that Friday at midnight (after they’ve finished making out in the handicap stall), and Liam had Zayn promise not to tell anyone anything.  
  
+  
  
Liam has to tell Louis and Aiden that he’s sick Friday night so he doesn’t have to go to any of their bloody parties. He does a pretty spectacular sick-person impersonation over the phone, and they both believe him (for the most part), and go on with their lives, thinking Liam is vomiting or coughing up a lung or something similar.  
  
In reality, Liam is trying on a few thousand outfits and studying himself in the mirror, despite the fact that it’ll probably be too dark to see each other and Zayn won’t even care what he has on. It takes him a while, but he finally settles on one of his plaid button-ups, a dark pair of skinny jeans, and his infamous pair of white Converse. Which is basically what he had on before, but oh well.  
  
As soon as the clock hits eleven forty-five, he’s out the door (his parents are already in bed and his sisters are out, themselves), all but sprinting to the park - their designated meet-up spot. It takes him less than five minutes to get there, and, when he does, he sees Zayn already standing on the sidewalk in a street lamp’s pool of light. Liam can see him stamping out a cigarette on the pavement with the heel of his sneaker, and huffing out a tired breath, white smoke haloing in the air.  
  
Liam quietly walks up to the boy, half-smiling, with one hand in his pocket and the other tapping nervously against his pant leg. Zayn spots him, and, when he’s within whispering distance, says, very softly, “Hey. You’re uh. You’re early.”  
  
“So are you,” Liam says, his smile growing as he reaches his hands out to hold onto Zayn’s. The older boy tries to pull back, but Liam’s grip holds firm. Liam frowns. “Hey,” Liam says, softer than Zayn’s. “What’s wrong? Thought you wanted to be all touchy-feely?”  
  
“I - uh,” Zayn stutters. “I do, yeah, but you… you don’t. So. Uh -”  
  
Liam closes the small gap between them, their chests inches apart. “I think we’re safe, Zayn. It’s nearly midnight; the churchgoers have all gone to bed by now.”  
  
“Right. I. Uh, I was wondering… if, like,” Zayn says, trying for the right words, but coming up short. “Fuck, Li. We need to talk. About… About us. Before we get too far into this, you know? And we can’t talk and. Just. We need to.”  
  
Liam wordlessly nods and lets Zayn drag him to a nearby park bench, their hands still meshed together.  
  
When they’ve sat down, Zayn starts out with, “I think I like you. A lot. And I’m not sure if that’s ever happened with me, you know. I’m not sure if I’ve ever had a… a… a whatever _you_ are.”  
  
Liam smiles again, pressing a whisper of a kiss to Zayn’s lips. “I think the word you’re looking for is a crush, Z. And… I, uh, I think I like you a lot, too. And it’s never happened to me, either, so don’t worry.”  
  
+  
  
The rest of the night goes pretty smoothly, full of kisses and whispers and just all-around nervousness. They end up making out in Liam’s bushes (in the backyard; they aren’t taking any chances) when Zayn drops him off, and are only torn apart when the neighbor’s dog starts to bark at the pair and nips at Zayn’s foot.  
  
Zayn invites Liam to another midnight meeting on Tuesday, promising that it’ll be so much better than this one. Liam agrees to be there, and, with one last kiss, they bid each other farewell, and Zayn turns to leave.  
  
After he does, Liam plops onto the grass - the Henderson’s dog still yipping at him - lying on his back with a wistful sigh. He looks up into the sky to see the morning sunlight painting the sky orange and pink and maybe a little purple.  
  
He spends the rest of the day in some sort of euphoric trance.  
  
+  
  
“What’s up with you?” Liam’s father asks after the entirety of the church is empty, save Liam, who sits on the piano bench, humming to the simple song his fingers tap out on his keys, and his father, who is gather a few of his things, getting ready to (finally) leave.  
  
It’s a fair question; what is up with Liam lately? It’s been over thirty-six hours since his date-like-thing with Zayn. Surely the high would’ve worn off by now?? Surely Liam isn’t that crazy about the boy.  
  
“It’s. It’s nothing, dad. Just in a good mood, is all,” Liam says, biting his lip in attempt to keep the grin off his face.  
  
“Liam. Are you on drugs, son?”  
  
He actually laughs before considering it. Zayn could probably be considered as a drug (especially with all that alcohol and nicotine in his system). He shakes his head, anyway, thinking that _yes, dad, I’m sort of on drugs_ , isn’t an acceptable answer to that question. “No, dad. Not on drugs.”  
  
“Are you sure? You wore out on the lawn at five in the morning yesterday. If you aren’t on drugs, then something has to be up, at least.”  
  
“Nope. Just wanted to see the sun come up.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“I think I’m gonna go outside, yeah? Catch some air and stuff,” Liam says, mainly just wanting to get the hell out of the stuffy church. His dad hums and lazily nods his head in confirmation.  
  
When Liam’s out the door, the first thing he does is - basically - collapse on the ground (not, like, from a medical thing, just out of the want to collapse). He spreads out on the grass and tries to make shapes out of the clouds (yeah, he’s still on his Zayn High, so what?)  
  
After a while - half an hour or so - Liam hears some crunching leaves and light breathing to his right, turns his head, and finds a pair of very familiar sneakers inches from his face. Liam raises an eyebrow because Zayn should not be here right now, but his sneakers are, so…  
  
“I, uh -”  
  
“I saw you. The other day.” That is _so_ not Zayn’s voice. “With Zayn?”  
  
Looking up at the kid, Liam thinks he might look quite familiar, with his somewhat stupid (though very ravishing) curly hair and emerald green eyes that sort of remind Liam of a cat and these endearing dimples. Liam has to blink before answering. “Oh. Um… Who - who are you? Exactly? Because, like, if you’re going to blackmail me or whatever, I should at least know who you are.”  
  
“No, I,” the boy says, shaking his head (his curly hair is going everywhere, and Liam sort of wants to fix it; he isn’t what you would call a fan of messes). “I’m not trying to blackmail you. I’m just. I’m Zayn’s mate. Harry. Surely he’s mentioned me?”  
  
Liam’s face flushes. “We, uh. We actually haven’t done too much talking…”  
  
Harry snorts and sinks down next to Liam, lying flat on his back and staring up at the heavens. “Right. I noticed when you guys were making out in the stall at school.” Liam takes a moment to shoot him an incredulous look. “What? I came in to go to the bathroom, and it sounded like people were… _sexing_ in the handicap stall, so I stuck around for a bit.”  
  
“Pervert,” Liam playfully mutters under his breath. He’s smiling when Harry elbows him in the ribs.  
  
“Not like that.” He chokes on a laugh before starting back up. “Anyway, I heard you were meeting up Saturday at midnight while I was in there, and - don’t look at me like that! I didn’t _follow you there_ or anything. I just. I want to know what the fuck you did to him because I honest to god think you broke the poor bastard.”  
  
“Broke him?” Liam says in something that could probably be classified as a squeak. “What- what do you mean, broke him? Like, In-A-Bad-Way broke him?” And he sounds so heartbroken and Harry has to - he really does have to - wrap an arm around the boy’s shoulders.  
  
“No, not like that,” he says, quick and quiet. “In-A-Good-Way broke him. I promise. He’s just. He’s grinning like a maniac and I don’t think he’s stopped since yesterday, and he’s sort of daydreaming - and I know that Zayn daydreams a lot, but this is, like, ridiculous. And it’s presumably about you, kid.”  
  
(Kid? No. This curly-haired bloke is younger than Liam for sure. He can’t call him ‘kid’.) “A-about me?” Liam’s semi-shamelessly blushing again. “Why would he be daydreaming about me?"  
  
Harry laughs again (he seems to do that a lot) and smacks a kiss to Liam’s forehead. “You’re kidding, yeah? He’s sort of stupid over you, love. Has been since - _what?_ \- middle school? Besides you’re pretty fit. I know lots of blokes who would daydream about you. Who _have_ daydreamed about you.” And that is so not helping Liam’s blush. At all.  
  
“I, um. Middle school?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Huh.” He lets that sink In a moment. “So you’re saying I could’ve been snogging him since middle school, and it’s only happening now?”  
  
“Basically, yeah.” Another laugh. Liam’s all for happiness and stuff, but he seriously needs to cut all this laughter out. It’s sort of scary. Like one of those Too-Happy mental patients.  
  
“Huh.” More silence. “You, uh. You haven’t, like, told anyone, have you? I mean, about me and Zayn?”  
  
“No. Figured you’d want to stay quiet about it with your dad being who he is,” Harry says. Liam finally breathes. “But, like, I came here to make sure that you don’t - I dunno - break his heart or whatever. Because I’d have to pick up all the pieces, and, while that’s fine and I’m for it and I’d do it in a heartbeat, I don’t wanna have to, you know? So try to, you know, _not_ do that.”  
  
It’s Liam’s turn to laugh. “You have no worries on that front, mate. Don’t intend to break his heart any time soon,” He assures, picking at a few blades of grass that lie to the side.  
  
“Okay.” Pause. “You know what, I lied. I also came to ask about that bloke who’s your friend. Louis, I think? Lewis? I, uh, I’m sure you know who I’m talking about.” Liam nods, swiftly and a little skeptically. “Well, like, what’s his. Situation? Or whatever?”  
  
“He’s single and vulnerable as hell, so I advise you not to even think about breaking his heart. He’ll probably read your mind or something, and start shattering and falling apart and everything.”  
  
Harry flushes. “Oh. Uh. Yeah. But, like… is he…”  
  
“Into guys?” Harry nods. “Extremely.”  
  
“Well, do you know if he’s… like…”  
  
“Into you? As far as I know, he’s pining at least a little. Surely you’ve noticed him gaping at you? Like, every day.”  
  
Harry flushes a deeper shade of red and opens his mouth to speak. He quickly snaps it shut when the heavy church doors are slammed shut. “Liam? What are you doing? Who is that?”  
  
Liam thinks he rolls his eyes, but is too preoccupied with sitting up and brushing his shirt off to be sure (Harry sits up as well, aware that Liam’s dad probably thinks he’s a serial killer or something based off his skinny jeans and leather jacket). “I’m not doing _anything_ , dad. And this is Harry, he’s a _friend_ , okay?” Liam mentally smacks himself. His inner teenager has emerged (usually, he manages to swallow it back down). (Usually.)  
  
“Right. Well, I’m heading home. If you want to catch a ride,” he says, somewhat awkwardly, with a tinge of betrayal and curiousness. Whether it’s because he was just recently getting too close for comfort with a boy (it might’ve been platonic, but Liam’s sure it didn’t look it) or because he snapped at him, Liam isn’t sure.  
  
“I’ll walk,” Liam says out of spite. His mind toys with the notion of kissing Harry out of spite, as well, but quickly tells himself _no, bad Liam_.  
  
“Yeah. Right. Uh, see you at home, then,” he mutters, shooting Liam a look that says _we’ll talk about this later_ (he's still not sure what _this_ is, but Liam doesn’t think his dad’s sure of what it is, either, so it’s okay).  
  
Liam falls back on the grass after his father gets in his car and vanishes down the street, sighing heavily. “God, this just… it _sucks_ , okay? Really bad.”  
  
“I know,” Harry says. “But he’ll be fine with it, I’m sure. He’ll get used to everything. After all, if you can’t fuck who you want, then what are you?”  
  
Liam shoots Harry a look, somehow grimacing and smiling all at once. “You’ve been hanging around Zayn too much.”  
  
+  
  
Somehow, Liam makes it all the way until Tuesday without dying. But then Louis is chatting with Harry at lunch and Harry says, “Hey, Li. What’s up?” and Louis gives him this look that is so, one hundred percent devious curiosity and he might drop dead on sight (is that a thing? Cause of death, simple, platonic greetings and experiencing Louis Tomlinson’s frightening half-glares?) “How’d everything blow over with your dad?”  
  
“Well enough, I suppose,” Liam says, a little sheepishly while aimlessly rubbing at his shirt collar. “There’s silent treatment from both parts, which is better than yelling. Most of the time.” Liam pauses to swallow a bite of school lunch grilled cheese (and maybe the lump in his throat, too). “Looks like things with you have gone good, yeah?”  
  
He laughs (again). “Pretty much, yeah. I’m actually working on it as we speak.”  
  
“Liam,” Louis says in that fake cheerful voice that he always does when he’s extremely confused and/or mildly pissed. “How do you know Harry?”  
  
“Oh, well.” _he’s my almost-boyfriend’s best friend, Lou. Why do you ask?_ “You know. We’ve seen each other around. Church and stuff.”  
  
And, thank god, Louis lets it slide (but that doesn’t stop him from glaring fucking lasers into his soul) (which physically hurts) (oddly enough). “Anyway,” Louis’ voice is just shy of stone, “Hazza was just telling me that he knows Zayn Malik. The boy you’ve been obnoxiously pining over since the fourth grade.”  
  
Aiden shows up in the nick of time, though he sure as hell doesn’t help the situation at hand because he says, “Hey, Li. Why’s ‘at Malik guy making cow eyes at you?”  
  
He plays it off as best he can (which, admittedly, isn’t very good) (he mostly just blushes like crazy and ducks his head).  
  
And, as if it isn’t enough, Zayn actually comes over and sits with them, _right next to Liam_. As in, touchy-feely in public, which is so not what they agreed on. “Hey, guys,” he says, all nonchalant and perfect-like, and - if he wasn’t dead before - that’s when Liam dies. Right there. In the corner of the cafeteria. God rest his soul.  
  
“Hey, Zayn,” Harry quips. “This is Louis, Aiden, and you already know Liam.”  
  
Damn you, Harry. Damn you to hell.  
  
There’s another one of Louis’ looks, followed by Zayn’s cheery “A little, yeah.” And, holy fudge, Zayn’s left hand finds Liam’s thigh and goes… _up_. And, yeah, Liam’s definitely dead now. “In passing.”  
  
“Hey, _Liam_?” Louis is doing that bloody voice still. “Can I talk to _you_? _Alone_?”  
  
Nervously, Liam nods, pries Zayn’s hand off his thigh as discreetly as possible, and says, “Yeah, sure.” He swiftly follows Louis to a nearby table filled with cheerleaders (if he was straight, Liam would call them cute, but he’s gay so they’re just fashionable). They sort of turn their noses up, but the cheerleaders stay put (to Liam’s great dismay).  
  
“What the hell, Liam?” Louis hisses. Liam flinches. Just a little. “You know my kind-of-boyfriend and the guy you’ve had a boner over for just about forever, and you don’t _tell_ me? What. The. _Hell_ , Liam?!”  
  
The cheerleaders look at each other before nosing their way closer. “What’s going on here?” the one with shockingly purple hair and a smile that could probably kill asks. “Because, like, it sounds like you need some girl advice, you know.”  
  
Louis squints at them. “Who are you, exactly?”  
  
“I’m Perrie. Nice to meet you. Now _spill_.”  
  
“I am not talking about… _this_ in front of… _other people_. I can’t,” Liam says, rubbing his temples.  
  
“Well, you have to, okay? Because something’s up and I am your best friend and you have to tell me.” Louis sort of spit’s the words out, malice strong in them, and it has Liam flinching once again.  
  
“I just.” Words fall short in the air. Liam tries to catch them, but ends up failing. They fall to the floor, shatter, and Liam leaves them. Decides to move away from them. Move away from… this. “I can’t do this right now, Lou. I’m sorry, but I really can’t.” He gets up to leave the table (and possibly the school), but is stopped when Louis grabs his wrist.  
  
“Liam. Liam, I’m not _stupid_.” This time, Louis’ voice is softer than before (greatly so). The cheerleaders dive forward. “I know there’s… _something_ going on between you two. You can’t tell me any different.”  
  
Liam thinks his heart breaks just from the boy’s tone. He shakes his wrist out of Louis’s grip before saying. “I. I can’t, Lou.” and walking out the cafeteria doors.  
  
+  
  
At midnight, they meet again in the park. Zayn looks downright amazing, and Liam’s sort of a mess on legs. Which causes Zayn to give him his empathetic eyes and a slight pout (does Liam look _that_ out of character?). Zayn throws his gaze all around them before stepping forward and encasing Liam in his own warmth. “What’s wrong, Li?”  
  
Liam, his face pressed into Zayn’s shoulder (and it’s oh-so-soft), mutters, “Everything. _Nothing_ is going as it should be, Zayn.”  
  
“Nothing?”  
  
“Well, like, I would say ‘us’ - that we’re going rather nicely now - but, you know, I’m not sure if I’m… allowed to say that?” Zayn can barely hear him, has to strain to do so.  
  
“Of course you can,” he says, chuckling and running his hands through Liam’s hair (it’s longer than it was before. And not blond like it used to be - thank the heavens). “You can tell me what’s wrong, yeah?”  
  
Liam is pretty sure he’s crying now (pathetically, might he add), releasing little sobs into the fabric of Zayn’s t-shirt (Liam thinks it’s a plaid shirt. He likes plaid). “Everything, Zayn. Louis… and- and my dad and just… nothing’s working out, and. And I know it’s not supposed to - not always - but it… it doesn’t make it suck any less, you know?”  
  
“I know, baby,” Zayn coos into Liam’s ear, his breath hot and calming against his skin. “I know. C’mere.” He pulls Liam’s face out of his shirt and makes him look Zayn in the eye. Zayn’s are warm and so are his hands pressed on either side of Liam’s face. Liam is shaking like a life in the wind and his eyes are red (he’s not sure if he’s even worthy of comparison to Zayn at this point). “Come on, Liam. Don’t cry.”  
  
Before Liam is capable of gathering a response, Zayn’s lips quickly dart over Liam’s face, scattering kisses where tears used to be. The final one lands on Liam’s lips and holds firm for a solid twenty seconds before Zayn pulls back and lets Liam cry into his shirt for a moment. “You’re gonna be okay, Li. Promise. In the end, the things that matter will be solved and the things that actually mean nothing will be left behind. You have to lose the extra stuff to gain what matters. And that’s just fine. Sometimes - _most times_ \- it’s better that way.”  
  
Liam sniffles, and says softly, “You’re a lot more philosophical than I give you credit for, Zayn.” Which makes Zayn smile and press another kiss to his forehead.  
  
“Now come on. Let’s go be adventurous.”  
  
+  
  
Zayn’s definition of _adventurous_ is definitely not on par with Liam’s. Liam thinks; I dunno, like pirates or whatever? Zayn thinks; let’s go run in the fountain and do other miscellaneous illegal activities. Liam thinks; adventure in Wolverhampton? Please. Zayn thinks; Hey, let’s rob a bank (they don’t actually do that, but it is suggested) (by Zayn) (more than once).  
  
They end up going with the former idea of fountain-running-in.  
  
“You jump in!” Liam insists, kind of laughing his ass of just at the notion of jumping in the town fountain. At one in the god damned morning. “It was _your_ idea!”  
  
“ _Shh_!” Zayn yells through a mouthful of laughter. “Someone could hear us!” Still giggling (a little drunkenly) (drunk on adventure, Zayn would say) “Okay,” he announces, sizing up the fountain. “I’m gonna jump in. Okay? Three, two…” he stops for a moment before bursting into a fit of laughter. “I can’t do it!”  
  
Liam laughs and, well, he might push Zayn in (rather forcefully, might he add. It might actually count as, like, relationship abuse) the fountain. And Zayn might scream/shriek and flail as he falls into the water. (Just for clarification, the fountain in their town is knee-deep and pretty large going by normal fountain standards.)  
  
He lands with a splash, stray droplets jumping from the water and clinging to Liam’s skin. Liam is dying with laughter, and Zayn is trying to hold a glare, but it slowly dies. “Asshole!” he says through a smile and a mouthful of water. “You fucking asshole!”  
  
For retaliation purposes (and retaliation purposes alone) Zayn takes the boy by the arm and yanks Liam in.  
  
“What the hell, Zayn?” he yells, but he’s laughing and falling (in the water and maybe a little in love) (unless it’s too early for that. Then it’s jus at strong liking). He splashes Zayn relentlessly, over and over, until Zayn is sputtering and falling (Liam offhandedly wonders if he’s falling in love/like, too) and attempting to return the act.  
  
“Quit it! God, Li!” Zayn apparently throws caution (and the laws of physics) (you know, the ones that say you could/can die if you hit your head on the concrete bottom of a fountain) to the wind and outright tackles Liam into the water. Laughing, Zayn yells, “That’ll teach you to fucking splash me!”  
  
Surfacing, Liam shakes some water out of his mop of hair and flips him off, grinning all the while.  
  
It continues like this for a long while, splashing and sputtering and slipping (and maybe some kissing). They yell at each other, and, yeah, they might draw a squirrel or two’s attention (and maybe the man who lives above the coffee shop), but that’s okay. They don’t really have time to care about anything other than this pool of water and themselves.  
  
+  
  
And okay, so they might get a little arrested.  
  
Just a bit.  
  
But they’re giggling and it isn’t an actual arrest because, _god_ , it was just jumping in a fountain and they’re barely seventeen. The squad car smells nice and has heat so it isn’t like they’ve completely freezing. So it’s mostly okay.  
  
Until it isn’t because they have to call Liam and Zayn’s parents and that just is not good for Liam. They caught him kissing a boy in a fountain. Unchristian and illegal. These things (especially combined) are not good. Not good at all.  
  
So, naturally, Liam begins to freak the fuck out. Zayn throws an arm around his shoulders, pulls him close, and lets him hyperventilate. Liam humors the idea of pulling away (what if his dad walks in?), but quickly shakes the thought away. It’s too comforting to even think about backing away. Besides, he’s screwed no matter what (surely we found your son kissing another boy will pop up in conversation with the police). “Nothing is going right,” he mutters into Zayn’s collarbone. “Nothing.”  
  
He feels Zayn press a kiss to the top of his head before whispering, “I know, Li. Just calm down. Everything is going to be okay. I promise.”  
  
Liam might be crying again (but it could also be stray droplets of water rolling down his cheeks). “How can you promise that, Zayn? How can you promise that _anything_ will be okay?”  
  
“I’m going to make sure of it,” Zayn says into Liam’s hair. “I promise that, too.”  
  
Zayn wipes away Liam’s tears with his thumbs and kisses his cheek. Liam comes to the conclusion that, yeah, he’s more likely than not falling in love. “Zayn?”  
  
“Yeah, Li?”  
  
“Thanks. For everything.”  
  
He replies with a kiss to Liam’s jaw, murmuring, “You shouldn’t thank me, Liam. I haven’t done anything for you.”  
  
“Yes, you have.” Zayn doesn’t press the subject, just lets it hang there as Liam takes a minute to process exactly what’s happening at the moment. “What will my dad think?” Pause. “God, he’s going to use me as an example for the whole church, isn’t he? _Don’t be gay. You’ll get arrested_.”  
  
“That isn’t why we got arrested.”  
  
“But he’ll twist it that way.”  
  
This is followed by a short silence (Liam can hear the static in the air) before a police officer comes through the door, approaches their little police station-bench-thingy they’re huddled up on, and announces, in his firm, slightly stern, police-officer-voice, “Malik? Your parents are here.” He slams the door on his way out.  
  
“Are your parents okay with it?” Liam whispers because he hadn’t asked and had just recently began to feel sort of terrible about it.  
  
“With me kissing a boy? Yeah. We’ve talked about it before. They’ll support me - us. They’ll support us. But they’ll be less than thrilled about the whole arrested thing,” Zayn says, looking Liam dead in the eye, his filled with sorrow and maybe an ounce or two of pity, Liam’s filled with tears. “Do you… do you want me to stay with you? Just until your parents get here? Because, like, I can if you want.”  
  
“No. No, I’m good. It’d be better if it was just me,” Liam’s eyes are firmly locked on the tile floors as Zayn stands up, presses a kiss to the top of Liam’s bowed head, and exit’s the room.  
  
He might whisper, “Good night, Li,” while he’s walking out the door, but Liam can’t be sure.  
  
Liam sits and waits, his heart thumping out an erratic tune in his chest. He’s scared and alone (which might’ve been his choice, but is still terrible) and a little bit more vulnerable than he’d like to be.  
  
He needs someone there with him. Louis, maybe, who’d lighten the mood by licking Liam’s face and flicking his ear and sitting on his lap. Or Aiden, who’d start howling out some Hipster-esque song (Coldplay, perhaps), singing bad on purpose (though it isn’t the most excellent sound when he’s trying, either) and laying his head in Liam’s lap when he gets to the high notes, and maybe biting Liam’s thigh in the process. Or his sisters, Ruth and Nicola, who’d play with his hair and try to braid it until he died of laughter, and talk about uni and boys and popular bands and the latest fashion and whatever else girls like to ramble on about.  
  
Or Zayn.  
  
He needs Zayn.  
  
+  
  
As it turns out, Liam’s mum is the one who comes to get him, all tight smiles and fidgeting hands. She fumbles to sign the papers and her hand shakes as she grips the pen. She’s in her not-to-be-worn-in-public clothes (baggy sweats and a stained sweatshirt with her hair done up in a horribly messy bun) (to be fair, it’s barely five o’clock in the morning).   
  
She says nothing to him until they’re safely tucked away in their car, Liam relishing in the heat. He’s in the middle of readjusting a vent when his mother says, “Your father and I are very disappointed in you.”  
  
“I can’t help who I am, mom.”  
  
“I know that. Your father doesn’t, but I do. I’m disappointed because you didn’t tell me, though I don’t blame you. Just, when we get home, try not to say too much. He isn’t thinking very rationally and he’s pretty mad. So, just, try not to push his buttons, okay?”  
  
Liam nods, but doesn’t mean it.  
  
The rest of the trip home is silent, save the soft humming of the heater, the clicking blinkers, and the rattling (are they in Ruth’s car? Why are they in Ruth’s car?) that comes -  free of charge - along with riding in Liam’s sister’s car (how did he miss that he’s in Ruth’s car?).  
  
When they pull up to Liam’s driveway, his dad’s car is missing. His mother immediately breaks into tears. Liam wants to do something - hug her? Provide some sort of comfort? - anything, but he feels frozen. Like moving will make him shatter into thousands of pieces  in his sister’s car. “I thought he’d be back,” she sobs. “I didn’t think he’d meant it.”  
  
“Meant… meant what, mom?” Liam’s voice is timid, testing the waters.  
  
She sniffles and wipes her eyes, trying to regain her composure. “He… he told me to pick you up and take you home, and that he was going on a drive. You had until he came back to gather your things, but… but then you had to leave. That you had to be gone before he got back, or… or…” her words are swallowed by sobs and her fingers clamp around the steering wheel, her knuckles stark white.  
  
“Mum… Mum, it’s okay,” Liam assures her, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. “I can do that. I’ll just… I’ll stay with Lou or Aiden or Harry,” or Zayn “for a bit. Until this all blows over,” which, presumably, will be never. “I’m sure they won’t mind. Promise.”  
  
“But…” she shakes her head vehemently. “No. No, you shouldn’t have to do that, Liam. I won’t let you -”  
  
“I have to, mum. I have to and I will. Just for a bit. I don’t want something happening to someone else just because I kissed a boy in a fountain, okay? I’ll be fine. Six blocks away. You won’t even notice I’m gone. I swear.”  
  
His mother hesitates, tears swimming in her eyes, some leaking down her cheeks, before she timidly nods, and says, her voice shaking, “Right. R-right. J-just. You have to hurry, okay? Go get the stuff you need and I can drop you off at Louis’s house, alright?”  
  
Liam quickly nods, darting out of the car and into his house before his mum can say another word. He swiftly climbs the stairs, rushing into his room (thank god the door’s open; he would run into it, otherwise). He grabs a duffle, and, as angrily as he can, throws random things (he doesn’t bother with clothes. Louis’ll share). He tosses in his laptop, his iPod, and other miscellaneous items he needs to survive, before zipping it shut (violently) and high-tailing it out his bedroom door.  
  
His father is waiting for him when he gets downstairs.  
  
Frozen in his tracks and a little shell-shocked, Liam has another mini-panic attack (not visibly; he doesn’t think having an outright freak out would do any good for him). “D-dad…” he says, soft and hesitant, his hands trembling on the strap of his duffle bag. “I-um. I was just… I was just leaving.”  
  
“Damn straight, you are,” he growls, and if Liam though Louis’ stare scared him he doesn’t know what the hell his father’s does. It’s cold and stony and just on this side of I’m-Going-To-Kill-You.  
  
Liam wants to conjure up some sort of witty retort. He wants to push him back or spit in his face. He wants to punch him in the nose, elbow him in the throat. Wants to just fucking scream, at the top of his lungs, that _He is his own person. He can do whatever the fuck he pleases. He. Is. Not. A. Fucking. Puppet._  
  
But he’s frozen to the ground, gravity and fright pushing him into the earth harder than he remembers. “I…” his voice squawks, but there must be some sort of embargo between his voice box and mouth (Liam’s voice box shan’t trade words with his mouth ever again). He wonders just how obviously his soul is crumbling.  
  
His father’s icy glare is still holding strong when he says, “I want you out. _Now_.”  
  
Liam still can’t move.  
  
“I _said_ ,” his father growls, teeth gritted and fury emblazoned in his eyes. “You need to leave. _Now_.” Liam swears the house trembles. “Before I lose my temper.” If he hasn’t lost his temper yet, then Liam doesn’t want to stick around until he does.  
  
Liam’s grip on his duffel strap tightens again, and he manages to squeak out, “I… um… Dad, I.” Taking a steadying breath he, as loud as he can (which, honestly, isn’t very loud in his current state), “Fuck you.” (His voice cracks a little on ‘you’, but his point is delivered nonetheless.)  
  
As firmly as he can (his legs wobble like Jell-O) (really weak Jell-O), he stomps out of the house, shoulders past his mother, who is standing by the car, crying (just a little), his eyes set on the sidewalk in front of him (he steps on the cracks on purpose).  
  
He just wants out.  
  
+  
  
The sun has come up when Liam makes it to Louis’ place, a small brick house with a rickety porch and a neglected row of bushes lining the exterior. Liam hesitates before trudging up the porch steps, his duffle shouldered and his hands trembling. He knocks on the door as light as humanly possible. Despite his efforts, his knock is heard and the door opens to reveal a grinning Louis Tomlinson, a bagel hanging out of his mouth and his hair half done (it’s Wednesday, isn’t it?).  
  
Louis’ face falls immediately, his brows furrowing and his bagel dropping to the floor. (Liam’s crying, isn’t he? He feels like he’s crying). “Liam… Liam, what’s wrong?”  
  
Liam shrugs and bows his head, his mind feeling numb. He thinks he hears The Fray or Coldplay or something playing in the background, and he tries to focus on that. “Nothing. It’s just… it’s nothing, Lou. Trust me. I’m _fine_. I just. Can I stay here? For a few days?” His tone is overly inquisitive and he’s well aware of it.  
  
He knows it’s not a convincing argument and that Louis must be curious as to why he’s still partially sopping wet. Not to mention the fact that it’s six (or is it seven?) in the morning and Liam is crying (yeah, he’s definitely crying) on his doorstep. “Liam. If… if something’s wrong - with your family or whatever - you can tell me. You know you can… and you probably should if I’m going to let you stay here.”  
  
“It’s… it’s nothing… I swear,” Liam insists quietly, feebly wiping his cheeks with the palm of his hand. “Can I come in?”  
  
Louis wordlessly steps to the side, allowing Liam to pass. The music abruptly shuts off, the echo of the last note ringing through the air, still and dying. Liam sort of throws himself on Louis’ couch. He’s pretty sure his face smacks the couch arm pretty damn hard, but he doesn’t really give it time to register because before long, Louis has him wrapped inside his arms, petting his hair and wiping away tears and Liam begins to sob violently into the older boy’s shirt. “C’mon, Li. You can tell me what happened.” Liam shakes his head against Louis’ collarbone. “ _Please_?” Another headshake.  
  
They sit like that for a good ten or twenty minutes, Liam’s sobs resounding throughout the otherwise empty house.  
  
Louis sighs. “We’re staying home today,” he announces to the air around them. When Liam tires to protest, tries to rub away the tears and say that he’s fine, Louis grabs his wrists, looks him dead in the eye, and says, “We’re staying home.”  
  
Liam racks his brain for counterarguments. “But… what about your mum-”  
  
“My mum and the girls are visiting my grandparents for the next two or three days. She won’t even know. Besides, school started, like, ten minutes ago and you’re still in clothes you wore yesterday. We aren’t going.”  
  
Liam sort of pouts, trying to wipe away more tears that relentlessly flow down his cheeks. He nods sort of hopelessly before digging his face back into the safety of Louis. The boy lets him, going back to stroking his hair. “D’you want anything?” Louis asks. “Any _one_?”  
  
Liam knows what he’s hinting at, and, okay, _fuck it_ , he really wants Zayn here with him right now. He also wants sleep, though, and Louis’ shirt is _so very_ comfortable. He’s pretty sure he mutters, “Zayn,” against Louis as he closes his eyes and begins to drift off.  
  
He thinks.  
  
+  
  
When Liam wakes up he is surrounded by warmth and hushed voices. He thinks he’s in Louis’ bed - the smell sort of envelops him and the comforter is like no other - maybe remembers Louis half-carrying, half-dragging him up the stairs. The voices are growing louder, no longer hushed.  
  
“I don’t _know_ what’s wrong, Harry. And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, okay? It’s not my business to go around telling people.” That’s a familiar voice, Liam offhandedly notes. A _very_ familiar voice.  
  
“Look. I just want to know what the hell has been going on between you two lately.”  
  
“Harry-”  
  
“No, Zayn.” Zayn? Zayn’s here? How did Zayn get here? “You can shut up. I’ve seen you two. I know you’ve been having those romantic midnight meetings and making out in between classes and everything, okay? Just… what happened last night?” There’s a pause. “Zayn? C’mon, Zayn. What happened?”  
  
“I-” he who is presumably Zayn cuts himself off, his barely formed sentence hanging in the dead silence.  
  
Liam figures, since no one’s talking anymore, that he isn’t going to interrupt something important, so he chooses this moment to open his eyes and drowsily mumble, “Zayn?”  
  
The first thing he sees is Zayn scrambling to him, smiling and with gleaming eyes. “Liam,” be breathes, reaching a hand up to toy with the boy’s hair (Liam can see Harry roll his eyes from where the curly-haired boy sitting on Louis’ desk). Liam’s smile falls off his lips at once and he thinks he might start crying a little. “Li,” Zayn says softly, his own smile forgotten. “Liam, what’s wrong?” Liam hears footsteps and a slamming door, sees a mop of curly hair leaving the room, and figures it’s okay to talk.  
  
“M-my dad…” is all he manages before he’s sobbing again.  
  
Zayn seems to understand, and takes Liam in his arms, letting him cry into his shirt (this whole crying/comforting thing is happening too much for Liam’s liking today). “It’s okay, Liam. It’s fine. You’re okay.” He climbs into bed with him, lying so they’re face to face with the younger boy. “Calm down, Li.”  
  
“H-he hates me, Zayn. He hates me.”  
  
“He does not _hate_ you, Liam-”  
  
“He kicked me out at five o’clock in the fucking morning, Zayn. He _hates_ me.”  
  
Liam feels Zayn’s body go stiff. “He… he kicked you out? Because of me?”  
  
Liam’s tears are thrown to the wayside as Zayn’s gather in his eyes. He sits up and pulls Zayn into a hug, mumbling, “Not because of you. Because of me, yes. But not because of you at all.”  
  
He pulls back to kiss Zayn - just once, really quick - but, _of bloody course_ , Louis walks in just as their lips meet.  
  
Louis groans. “No sex in my bed, Payne!”  
  
Zayn excuses himself (not before actually kissing Liam more than intended. Right in front of Louis) and nudges past Louis as he exits the room. Louis smirks at Liam, eyebrows quirked and something like fondness in his eyes. “So, I take it you guys are a thing now? Like, an actual thing?”  
  
Liam halfheartedly shrugs, face flushed as Louis comes over to lay beside him on the bed. “I… I dunno. We haven’t… talked about it. Haven’t defined us yet.”  
  
“ _Yet_ ,” Louis says cheekily, shoving Liam’s arm. He wait’s a minute for the air to settle before saying, “You ready to tell me what happened last night?”  
  
With a sigh, Liam obliges to the request, telling him first about the party, then the midnight meetings, then the fountain. He doesn’t choke up when he gets to the bit about his dad - honestly doesn’t think he can - but Louis does. Just a little. “And now, I’m here,” he finishes, folding his hands in his lap.  
  
“God, Li. I… I’m _so_ sorry.” He hears something that he vaguely recognizes as a sniffle. “I love you, you know. A whole damn lot and… and you don’t have to keep things from me… _especially_ not relationships with _Zayn fucking Malik_. I mean, for god’s sakes, Liam. You’ve sort of been disgustingly pining over him since grade school. It’s been kind of _sickening_ , really.”  
  
“M’sorry,” Liam mutters, clinging to Louis and sighing, content. “But you’ve been keeping Harry from me.”  
  
“There’s nothing to keep from you, Li. We kissed once, and that was, like, yesterday after school. Haven’t had much time to tell you about it, now have I?”  
  
Liam giggles drowsily. “Could’ve slipped it in when I was sobbing on your doorstep.”  
  
Louis laughs, too, before they are joined by Aiden, who’s screaming about how angry he is because he wasn’t invited to the Sob Fest like all the others. And why the bloody hell is _Zayn fucking Malik_ and _Harry fucking Styles_ in Louis’ hallway? He then proceeds to tackle both Louis and Liam further into the mattress, nearly pushing all three of them right off the bed.  
  
Liam thinks that maybe this is his real family. These are the ones who matter. And perhaps Zayn is right. The things that really matter will stay, and everything else will be left behind. He just had to loose something to gain what matters.  
  
Liam might like that idea more than he should.  
  
+  
  
Liam kind of moves in with Louis - officially - a week or so later. His dad hasn’t come to terms with the whole “gay” thing yet - Liam doubts he ever will - and it isn’t like Liam hates the idea of moving in with the Tomlinson’s. So it sort of just happens.  
  
It’s simple, really. Louis’ mum goes, “Liam, would you live here? For good?”  
  
And Liam says, “I guess. If you don’t mind.”  
  
And that’s that.  
  
+  
  
Zayn ends up asking Liam on an official date three months later (the rest have been their traditional midnight meetings and the occasional coffee shop escapade). It’s to the Junior dance AKA the prom rip-off, and it really shouldn’t be as big a deal as it is, but, well, it is what it is and Liam sort of dies. Harry asks Louis, who jumps along with Liam that night, not squealing, per se, but it is admittedly somewhere along the lines of fangirling. Hardcore fangirling.  
  
It’s not until Louis’ mum comes upstairs to bang on the door and tell them to “Shut up! I’m trying to watch a movie down here!” that they are reduced to giggles and near-hyperventilation as they collapse on Louis’ floor, not exactly sure what to do with themselves.  
  
+  
  
The night arrives faster than Liam thinks possible, and he and Louis are all done up in their fancy, dance-going-to clothing (Liam; white button up, gray skinny jeans, red tie, gray vest. Louis; red pants, blue tie, white button up) (Louis has an odd sense of fashion), waiting for their dates (and Aiden) to arrive. They end up dying of boredom before the three arrive, sprawled out on the couch, their arms over their eyes, and their jaws slack (Louis might be drooling).  
  
Zayn and Harry sit on them until they get up, which might not be appropriate, but deserves points for originality. Or so says Aiden.  
  
When the get to the school, it’s already packed, swarming with a gym full of dancing teenagers. It’s partway scary, partway exhilarating for Liam, especially since he’s here with Zayn. Openly. For the first time. (No pressure.)  
  
They dance and drink punch that is probably spiked - probably at the hands of Harry - and shout lyrics to songs they hardly know and they just forget everything. Liam and Zayn might lose themselves a little too much, and not even from the alcohol (drunk on adventure, as Zayn would say), but, instead, from atmosphere that burns around them, hot and real and meaningful. They kiss on the dance floor, surrounded by a mess-and-a-half of people, all purple from the dark, glowing light. They slow dance together, Liam’s arms slung around Zayn’s neck and Zayn’s hands on Liam’s hips. They play footsy under the tables more than is probably socially acceptable.  
  
Aiden meets Niall Horan there, a bleach blond angel sent from god himself (that is Aiden’s exact quote), just by the punch bowl, and Liam might actually be able to hear the poor, love-struck teenagers fall in love.  
  
They leave in the black of night, take the limo they’d rented all the way into the city (screw gas prices).  
  
The city lights are blurry and dancing off of the windows, red and blue and white and green. They roll down the windows, and, as Liam belatedly notices that Niall Horan is sucking face with Aiden in the backseat, Louis and Harry sing along to the song they have blaring through the speakers, drunkenly claiming it’s the most romantic song they’ve ever heard (Liam hears the words ‘dope’ and ‘gangster’ at least twenty times each) (those two are so drunk it isn’t even funny anymore) (hardly).  
  
At one point, the sunroof is opened, and Zayn sticks his torso out, reaches into the sky and shouts. He feels the need to pull Liam up with him, who dazedly mimics Zayn. The yell at the night, their voices bouncing off the buildings, off into the sky, and back to the earth. They wake a hobo or two.  
  
Zayn and Liam end up kissing under the stars.  
  
Liam knows that this is how it’s supposed to be. That his dad was just a bump in the road and that, even if he doesn’t love Liam anymore (at least not truly), these people do. Louis and Aiden and Harry and maybe even Zayn. These people really matter, really care. They’ll keep him going for however long he needs it. These are the people he had to give up his other life for, his false one. These people are real, and, with them, so is he.  
  
Something that feels suspiciously like Louis’ hand smacks Liam on the ass. Louis yells, “Get some, Payne!” and Harry shouts a similar battle cry.  
  
Zayn reaches his hand into the limo to flip them off, lips still pressed firmly to Liam’s.  
  
And, yeah, Liam likes this family just as much as the old one.  
  
 **-Fin-**  
  



End file.
